


Cafeteria Coffee.

by delete_this



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delete_this/pseuds/delete_this
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's a pessimistic art teacher with no inspiration and a school-boy crush on a cafeteria worker. Dean's an optimistic cafeteria worker who's dating a very hot gym teacher and isn't gay. Nope. Not at all. Not even for the art teacher with the pretty blue eyes who he keeps making coffee for. </p><p>AU.<br/>WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pie.

Castiel sat quite complacent in his seat, observing the goings on in the corridor outside; separated from the students by one large glass wall that he believed was unessential and a waste of school money but, then again, he was an art teacher, not an architect or interior designer- however much his Father pressured him into such an esteemed role- and his thoughts of the layout of the building were hardly considered gospel, mere useless words from a useless man.

It's not that he cared for privacy. However much Castiel reproached the idea of emotional sharing and commitment, he didn't perceive physical contact or the abuse of personal space as anything other than necessary in most situations to get his point across. In any case, Castiel trusts his own judgment as much as the next person, he is, after all, the weird art teacher who walks and talks like a robot programmed in the 1800s.

Anyway, apparently the open and modern look helped widen the students' creativity and provided them a workspace designed to give them the confidence to display their imagination, rather than the four-walled, stained carpet atmosphere of every other classroom. Castiel raised a bottle of water to his lips, expecting a refreshing rush of liquid to greet his mouth but experiencing a few tiny drops of disappointment instead. He sighed and tapped the plastic molded bottom anyway, just because he lacked the energy to walk outside and buy another one from the vending machine in the Arts corridor.

It was then he realized that the bottle wasn't fresh from this morning, but yesterday's, so he searched his desk and then his bag to see if he'd brought a new one in today, because if he hadn't brought in a new bottle of water, then he hadn't brought in his obligatory packed lunch, and if that was the case- well, he didn't even want to imagine the outcome.

He'd already managed to skip breakfast for the third time this week, running late and caring too little to put a slice of bread in the toaster, even to just grab an orange from the fruit bowl. He was hungry, he was really hungry, but he doubted he could even eat in the cafeteria, not with _him_ there.

It was ridiculous really, a natural distaste for happy people left Castiel usually surrounded by the snobby type that didn't mind if he never said a word because they had enough to talk _to_ him about without requiring a response, and yet this one cafeteria worker got him going weak at the knees and failing to pronounce a simple "vegetarian lasagna, please."

This guy- Dean, he'd heard the nervous IT technician Chuck call him- was so enigmatic, charismatic and charming to every single student, teacher, janitor, receptionist, librarian and what have you. You name them, he could get them talking like they'd been best friends for ten years. All it took was one smile, one stupid shit-eating grin, and Castiel was putty in his hands.

Which is beyond preposterous because Castiel had a girlfriend. 'Had' being the necessary word in that statement, because Rachel had been a bitch and took off two weeks after said event, and taken the majority of their shared possessions with her, including his last pack of cigarettes which he had still yet to replace- mainly because he had no enthusiasm to leave the flat, but also because he wanted to prove he was stronger than she believed him to be. He could hold his ground.

But fuck, he could use that cigarette now.

It had been such a shit week. Such a shit, shit week.

And now he was faced with the prospect of going to the cafeteria and having to make polite conversation with a man who not only had the perfect shade of green eyes, and the perfect collection of freckles across his prominent cheeks and cute nose, but who guessed Castiel's choice of beverage before he'd opened his mouth and also gave it to him for free because he looked like, quote, "a puppy who got kicked out for shitting on the carpet."

Okay, so Dean wasn't the most literate of people, but his aura was the most beautiful thing Castiel had experienced, and Castiel usually thought the whole 'aura' thing was for people who were constantly high or wanted to make money from depressed civilians and therefore didn't even believe it themselves. But the warmth and the comfort emitting from him could only be described as an aura, so that is what Castiel called it. Not that he had any reason to give such feelings a name, but he wanted to set things straight in his mind. He wanted to be partly in control.

The worst had been last Thursday. Castiel had swallowed his insecurities and joined Gabriel -drama teacher, students love him, staff remain unsure- to lunch, simply because he'd been forced out of his glass cage with the threat of the recording of Castiel's drunken karaoke night being played to his sophomore Friday afternoon class.

And Gabriel would do it, no doubt about it.

So he'd grabbed his packed lunch and sat down on the end of the teachers' table without going to order anything. Gabriel returned swiftly, probably pushing in front of a babble of annoyed students, and settled down with a huge bowl of ice cream before him.

"Okay." He said, obviously extremely excited. "I didn't even know they sold ice cream here, but I was complaining about the shitty Jell-O that gets served every day and this guy just smiles like I've made his week and goes- 'would it kill to them to cook some pie, right?'- then says that there's a load of ice cream in the freezer that they keep for special occasions but have never had the balls to serve in case it starts a ice cream fight or some shit." Gabriel paused momentarily to take a massive spoonful of the ice cream, swallow it much too over exaggeratedly, and then return the the story. "So I'm like, you're kidding? 'Cause, God, ice cream makes everything better, so he gives me this wink, strolls away, and passes me the ice cream and has the guts to tell the jealous looking fat kid behind me that I have some sort of condition that requires I have at least one massive bowl of frozen substance every four hours or I spontaneously combust. The fat kid totally fell for it as soon as he smiled. Have you met this guy? If I was so inclined, I would have his dick in my mouth right now, no question."

The math team sent Gabriel aghast looks, which Gabriel just returned by pointing at the bowl with his spoon and saying: "I don't even give a fuck right now, I gots me some ice cream."

"I believe his name is Dean." Castiel murmured, tilting his head at the attention to detail Dean must have put in when adding just the right mixture of strawberry and chocolate sauce. "He appears to be the only one not crippled by the mundanity of this school."

"Oh, for the holy mother's sake." Gabriel shot, ice cream drooling down his chin before he expertly licked it up. "Cheer the fuck up. You're an art teacher, get high and listen to whale music and throw some paint with a piece of asparagus to show the decline of America's social unity or some shit, don't sit there eating your ham sandwich like it's the only friend you have."

"How did they let you become a teacher?" Castiel inquired, ignoring Gabriel's obscenities, because he'd quite happily do all those things if someone could supply him the inspiration and spirit required to do so.

"I got the qualifications and experience, and was told my energy and exuberance is exactly what this school's performing arts department needs. I'm like the guy from that _Glee_ show, just with better looks and male genitalia."

Castiel was about to say "His name is Will Schuester," because he'd watched the first two seasons with Rachel and was prone to watching re-runs on lonely nights at the apartment, not to mention he'd heard it mentioned in class enough times, but he felt that only added more fuel to Gabriel's attack on his social life. Instead, he opened up his yoghurt and let Gabriel continue his rant on the man-crush he's now developed on Dean-the-ice-cream-man.

Castiel wasn't jealous. Not one bit.

Fortunately, for the sake of Castiel's sanity, Crowley, a social studies teacher- and Castiel could so easily list a thousand reason why that was the most ironic thing he'd ever discovered- hit Gabriel around the head with a folder before sitting next to him and grabbing Gabriel's spoon, taking a bite of the ice cream and giving an appreciative moan.

"Bloody marvelous." He smirked, going in for another spoonful before Gabriel punched him in the shoulder and snatched it back. "That cafeteria guy snuck me some last week when I told him I needed something sweet- oblivious to the fact the remark was actually concerning that pert little arse of his, but all's well that ends well and that ice cream just about made my day."

"Is there anyone's pants this guy can't charm his way into?" Gabriel commented, nodding a welcome at Ellen (sassy English teacher who strikes fear in the majority of the school population) who sat beside Castiel, raising her eyebrows at the bowl that both Crowley and Gabriel were now sharing between them. Crowley, Gabriel and Ellen were probably the closest acquaintances Castiel had- he might even suggest Gabriel and Ellen were his friends, not Crowley, though: he was there for mere convenience and an opportunity to show off his snide comments, not to mention sharing the bottle of wine on Friday nights- and the rest of the teachers tended to avoid them. Even teachers seemed to have their cliques and, if Castiel had to associate a stereotype to their group, he couldn't- they were simply a cheeky drama teacher, bold English teacher, sarcastic social studies teacher and an awkward art teacher, stuck together by their love of booze and inane, unyielding pessimism.

"Let me guess." Ellen remarked. "Winchester gave you that."

"Don't know his last name." Crowley replied. "Don't care what it is 'till I make it my own."

"You wouldn't be the first to commit to that." She warned, poking at her pasta like it had offended her greatly. "But believe me, Dean ain't committing 'till he finds someone who has the power to change his perspective on everything, and he's as stubborn as a mule so that ain't happening any time soon."

"I like to think I've changed a few people's perspectives in my time." Gabriel quipped, casually high-fiving a senior drama student that was walking past.

"People moving to the furthest reaches of the Earth to get away from you isn't a change of perspective." Crowley smirked. "It's called regaining their common sense."

"No more ice cream for you then, you fat, British toss-"

"So, Castiel." Ellen intervened, sending a pointed look at Gabriel before tilting her head towards the table of freshmen girls, all stone silent and wide eyed as they listened intently to the conversation. "Got any commissions lately?"

"'Course he hasn't!" Crowley answered for him. "Idiot needs his _muse_ , and you haven't got laid in months have you, Cassie?"

"I haven't had time for recreational art in quite some time." Castiel replied. "But I don't think that has anything to do with my sex life."

"Or lack off." Gabriel added and Crowley grinned, raising his eyebrows, apparently waiting for Castiel to strip off there and then and have a break down in the middle of the cafeteria, slathering himself in Gabe's ice cream and screaming about his dry balls.

Castiel just stared blankly back until both men became awkward and returned to eating.

"If Castiel wanted it, he could get it, couldn't you Mr Novak?" Ellen cooed, rubbing the back of his neck with her thumb and forefinger, as if soothing him from Castiel and Crowley's words. In truth, he wasn't tense because of their spat, he was tense because he was still in the same vicinity as Dean Winchester and now not the only one with a stupid, schoolboy crush.

Before he could shrug her off, a shadow fell across the table and said: "Ah, so you're Mr Novak, then." Castiel froze and looked fearfully up at Dean, standing comfortably at the end of the table in his jeans and black t-shirt, with a dark green apron and matching cafeteria staff hat on, holding what looked like a steaming mug of perfectly mixed black coffee. "Should've guessed, heard a lot of girls mention how blue Mr Novak's eyes are during my time here."

If Castiel could form any words right then that weren't a poorly verbalized attempt at a keyboard smash, he still wouldn't have known what to say to that comment. What do you reply to a beautiful man- who you can't have interacted with more than five times- telling you that he's noticed the color of your eyes and even associates the ramblings of teenage girls with them. In any case, he's happy to have Gabriel at the table, who slams his hand against Dean's arm and grins like a mad man.

"All the awards." Gabriel nods. "You deserve all of them, more than Leonardo DiCaprio, you deserve every. Single. One."

Dean gave a gruff chuckle, moving his free hand to the back of his head and scratching it absentmindedly. "If food be the music of love."

"Then bloody play on!" Crowley finished off, holding up his mug of tea in a mock toast as if it were a highly expensive glass of champagne. Castiel noted that Dean had quoted Shakespeare. Quoted wrong for comic effect but, nonetheless, Shakespeare all the same, and he had done it so casually that Castiel had to unwillingly add 'cultured' to the increasingly long list of pro-Dean assets.

"What brings you out the kitchen, Winchester?" Ellen intervened yet again, and before Gabriel or Crowley could say 'what gives you the right, as a woman, to ever leave the kitchen', Dean set the coffee he was holding in front of Castiel and shrugged.

"You look like you need it." He smiled. "In the least offensive way possible."

Hell, did he need it, but he also needed Dean to walk away right now before he literally pounced on him and devoured every bit of visible skin he could with his lips and teeth and tongue. But that was inappropriate in a cafeteria filled with students and his colleagues and also he hardly even knew the guy, so he took a sip and gave a small appreciative gasp when he tasted the beautiful blend of flavors that he didn't even realize coffee could entail.

"Thank you." He nodded to Dean, amazed that his voice didn't waver when he locked gazes with the worker. Evidently, their gazes were locked longer than Castiel had thought because Ellen kicked his foot under the table and Crowley gave a low, seductive meow before receiving the same treatment.

"No problem." Dean said, his voice a little weaker than before, and he gave a small wave before speeding back to the kitchens. Crowley snorted and Ellen beamed, and Gabriel just pushed the ice cream to the side, held Castiel's hands in his, and gave him a deep, meaningful stare.

"Whatever noise you made when tasting that coffee just went straight to his dick." He whispered, his eyes twinkling like a really messed up version of a proud parent. "You're gonna bang hot-ice-cream guy, my friend."

Castiel shook his hands from Gabriel's grip and pushed the dessert back towards the drama teacher, returning to the coffee with the notion that there was a strong possibility it wasn't the caffeine causing his heart to beat at a rate he wouldn't need Mr Singer- science- to tell him was out of the ordinary.

But that was last week and he hadn't returned since, avoiding the eye rolls from Gabriel when he said he had marking of work or the rearranging and organizing of the store cupboard to do. Now he had no excuse and he was starving, and even the bag of dried fruit one girl was eating in the corridor outside seemed exceedingly appealing to him, so he had no choice but to leave his classroom and metaphorical comfort zone, jog down the stairs and through the zig zag corridors to the cafeteria- a large, white and spacious room with long, grey industrial looking tables and red chairs usually filled with excitable high school students.

Castiel hadn't realized how late he was deciding to go down there, because the majority of the school body had left and now littered the corridors, waiting patiently outside their classrooms, so the cleaning staff had already set to work pushing the chairs in and sweeping up the spaghetti and orange juice splattered not at all artistically on the floor. Castiel groaned inwardly, because he'd finally built up the courage to face Dean and eat hot food for the first time since God knows when, and he was too late.

"Hey, er, you've sort of missed lunch." A familiar voice chirped from behind the serving trays, wiping his hands down with a tea towel and beckoning Castiel over. Castiel complied, his feet taking him where his head was telling them not to, and gave a sheepish half-shrug.

"I only decided at the last minute that I was in need of some nourishment." He explained, searching the small shelves where the cold food was usually stacked to try and find one piece fruit or slice of carrot cake that he could take and run away with.

"Well it's pretty much all packed away now, unless."

"Unless?"

"Well, I've got an apple and raspberry pie out back Ellen gave me this morning which I was planning on heating up, so you're free to share that with me." He pointed behind his back to where an expertly baked pie sat ready and waiting by the microwave. "Though by share, I mean I will probably eat the majority, but if you can get in there quick enough you're free to as much as you want."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, because the pie did look good- however much he didn't usually eat such things and predominantly stuck to salads or pasta- and he was hungry, and this was _Dean_ : Dean-the-ice-cream-man who makes coffee for him just because he looks a bit worse for wear; Dean who manages to make a green apron look made to measure from the latest designer collection- offering to eat with him. Sure, they weren't at a restaurant, they were in a cafeteria that was still being washed up after a hoard of hungry teenagers had attacked it, but it was still just him and Dean, eating some pie, all on their own. Alone. Plus, Castiel had a free period next, so time wasn't of the essence.

"Okay." Castiel said, clenching his fists because that wasn't him agreeing, it was him admitting to himself that this was okay, and he was okay, and everything in the world was okay. "Yes." He nodded, "thank you, Dean."

"Hey, s'nothing." Dean smiled, "go sit down and I'll heat this baby up."

Oh, so charismatic. It made Castiel feel like throwing up because someone who could be a male model should not be this nice, especially not to people like him. People who stick to the shadows and who's girlfriends leave them because they're too cynical, boring and lifeless.

Out of habit, Castiel sat himself on the edge of the teachers' table and was joined quickly by Dean sitting opposite, placing the pie between them and sliding a fork towards him. Castiel wasn't aware that they were going to just 'dig in' to the pie together, but he could hardly complain when Dean seemed so attached to the dessert, so he took a politely small section of the outer crust and managed to wiggle a piece of apple out too.

"Dude." Dean commented amiably, taking a significantly larger portion for himself. "You're so tense, you should learn to relax a little bit more."

"I believe I'm the teacher." Castiel retorted, realizing that he'd said that in his stern 'I don't need this bullshit' voice he reserved for the most irritating students and quickly glanced up to apologize, but noticed that Dean had his mouth parted just slightly, and his eyes were dark, and apparently the whole bad teacher thing worked for him, and that was just fine with Castiel.

"Er, yeah, hah, I guess you are." Dean spluttered, stuffing more than the necessary amount of pie in his mouth to disguise whatever was going on. Castiel didn't want to make him feel awkward and evaluated the possibility that he just imagined Dean's reaction was one of lust and Dean was, in fact, just not used to be talked to like a fifteen year old anymore.

"So, how do you know Ellen?" Castiel asked in what he hoped was a subtly friendlier tone.

"Old family friend." Dean smiled, relieved for the distraction. "She told me about the job here, actually, 'cause her daughter Jo works in the kitchens too. I wasn't really up to it, I never saw myself working behind the counter in a school cafeteria at the age of twenty-nine but what can I say? Never really tried to become anything more."

"What did you want to be?"

Dean looked up and Castiel considered the thought that maybe no one asked Dean about his life, and just felt content with him listening to their endless problems and worries.

"A mechanic, actually. I know it's hardly glamorous, but I'm more than capable of doing the job, I just need the money from this job to patch up my Uncle Bobby's scrap yard and turn it into something more appealing to the public than a pile of smashed up cars."

"I see." Castiel nodded, now comfortably eating the pie and not minding the fact that Dean was eating with his mouth sort of open and messing up the pie so fantastically that it was pretty much just a giant mush of apple and raspberry and pastry. "I never wanted to be teacher." He admitted, ignoring the glares they were getting for eating on a newly cleaned table.

"Really? But I've heard you're good."

"From who?"

"The kids. The lunch line's where all the gossip is." Dean smiled, and Castiel couldn't bring himself to not trust Dean's words.

"Well, you've found the minority." Castiel snorted. "Most just think I'm weird and awkward."

"Well, yeah." Dean smirked. "You are, but it's in a good way."

Castiel swallowed audibly and his lips curved into a faint, nervous smile. "I, er, thank you." He said placing his fork neatly on the table. "For the pie." He added quickly, standing up and tugging at the top of his dark blue tie, noticing the material felt considerably hotter than usual beneath his collar.

"Dude, is your tie ever straight?" Dean commented whilst unabashedly finishing off the pie.

"No." Castiel replied simply, rocking forwards and backwards slightly on the balls of his feet. "I... have to... set up for next class, it's sculpture so it can get messy and, yes, so... good, right. Goodbye, Dean."

Dean stood up from his seat and lifted the pie case with him. "Hey, it's all good." He paused and bit his lip as he looked to the side. "And you know, Ellen makes these for me a lot, bless that woman, so if you're ever late to lunch again- or not- I'd be happy to supply you some of this heavenly grub."

Castiel nodded and gave what he hoped was a friendly smile and not a Joker-like grimace, before striding as quick as possible out the double doors, determined not to fall into a sprint.

Determined not to fall for anything.


	2. Salad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this update has taken forever because I had a friend stay for a week and also had major writer's block, but the others will be much quicker, I promise! Thank you for the kudos and comments, definitely kept my enthusiasm going and made me very, very, happy. So here you go, have some major UST as my apology...

Crowley was smiling at Castiel like he knew something he shouldn't, like Castiel had done something naughty, dirty, and was- for some reason- pleased with this assumption. Castiel was blushing from the other side of the staff room, like sharing a pie with another man was the most inappropriate thing he'd ever done and, for some reason, despite various sexual encounters in public places- including a very sudden encounter with a waiter in the back room- he couldn't shake the feeling that it was.

Principal Raphael Lincoln was perched in the corner of the room, seemingly idly observing the array of teachers who had made it to work early that day to gossip or mark. For once, Castiel was included in this rare breed of enthusiastic staff; awaking at 6:30 sharp, pouring a healthy amount of freshly squeezed orange juice into a newly cleaned glass, placing a piece of thickly sliced bread in the toaster, switching the radio on and making sure all the curtains in the apartment were wide open so the morning light could shine on every corner of every room.

He had ripped Rachel's leaving note from its home on the front on the fridge and tore it into eight separate parts, before screwing up each individual section and throwing them skilfully into the waste paper bin on the other side of the kitchen. He didn't miss a single shot.

At this moment in time, Raphael's unnerving eye was switching quickly between Crowley's cruel grin and Castiel's failed attempt at leaning casually against the counter without drawing unwanted attention. For whatever reason, Raphael wasn't fond of Castiel- probably because of his dishevelled appearance and lack of obedience for teacher etiquette: no shoes on the desk, turn up to assembly on time, that sort of thing. Forming an irrational desire fuelled crush on the member of the cafeteria staff was probably on that list too.

"You're earlier than usual, Cassie." Crowley sneered as he slid seamlessly beside Castiel and poured newly brewed coffee into the other man's mug without asking permission. "Quick escape from a one-nighter's apartment?"

Castiel snorted and shook his head, graciously using his replenished coffee as a distraction from replying.

"Go on, who was she?" Castiel blushed but didn't reply, and Crowley released a throaty chuckle. "Ah, he, then." He paused and froze slightly, puzzle pieces slotting together quickly in his mind. "Not ice-cream-man, you sly dog."

"No," Castiel confirmed. "Not ice-cream-man, not anyone. I'm just... early, today."

"Bullshit. You have an after-sex glow."

The fact that Crowley's usual spot-on skills of deduction were fooled by Castiel's impromptu eager work ethic struck a chord with Castiel, but the realisation a quick dessert with Dean had left him with an after-sex glow worried him even more so.

"I had dinner with someone." He lied- sort of. "But nothing more."

"Well you're smitten." Crowley replied _almost_ happily. He slapped Castiel on the back and began walking towards the door, but not before declaring unnecessarily loud- "congratulations on popping your cherry, angel boy!"- to the amusement of the English department having their weekly morning meeting as they started giggling like freshmen students.

Castiel ducked his head down and stalked hurriedly out the room, desperate to get away from Raphael's unending, wickedly interrogating stare.

\----o----

The classroom was bright and tranquil, the random twang of paintbrushes being tapped against water jars being the most prominent sound. Castiel leant back in his chair, admiring the aesthetics. His senior class was without a doubt- however unprofessional to admit it- his favourite. In some ways he'd grown up with them and, in turn, they'd grown accustomed to his peculiar ways, even laughing about them with him and treating him more of a friend than their teacher. He felt comfortable and confident in allowing the students to make their own choices with their art and was happy to kick back, put his feet up and check his emails whilst they continued working in front of him. This is why he loved the first two periods, they always allowed him to relax before _really_ starting work.

Halfway through the lesson his ears became alert to quick, harsh whispers. As always, it was the four students in the corner, chatting amongst themselves and adding unnecessary noise to the otherwise silent classroom.

"She's a bitch though."

Garth flicked his hand to brush away that comment, incidentally knocking over a jar of watercolour stained water and juggling the glass between two hands, no one else in the room offering to help- the rest of the students remaining calm and concentrating completely on their separate pieces, ipods in their ears and eyes focussed on their individual work.

"She's only a bitch to you because you ditch gym." Garth argued, and Adam and Jenny's eyes moved from him to Becky as she peered over the large canvas that covered most her body.

"Correction- I ditch gym because she's a bitch."

"Anyway, she's like, ten years older than you." Jenny added. "Plus she has a kid."

"Just 'cause she has a kid doesn't mean she isn't available." Garth pointed out, grinning and tensing his biceps. "And no woman of any age can resist these bad boys."

Castiel didn't know if he should feel awkward or not, listening to the inappropriate comments directed at one of his co-workers, but he didn't really care for the gym team and it was the students' private discussion, as long as he didn't intervene, he wasn't breaking any rules. Plus, he was rather intrigued.

"How do you know she isn't still with the kid's father?" Becky asked, and Adam shook his head.

"No, no. She's going out with that cafeteria guy- the one who always gives extra fries."

If any of the students had noticed Castiel drop his pen and nearly knock his coffee off the table, they hadn't mentioned it. However, the disappointment in Becky's voice was extremely apparent.

"That Dean guy? He deserves so much better than Miss Braeden!"

Miss Braeden. Lisa Braeden. The gym teacher with the perfectly tanned skin and model worthy body: thin waist and long legs accentuated by her love of wearing thin sleeveless tops and tight sport shorts- perhaps vital for her work but also highly distracting to both students and staff. Although Castiel never found himself strongly attracted to her, he could see why everyone else was- she was essentially flawless and, despite her killer looks, one of the most friendly and approachable people he'd come across. The knot in his stomach tightened when he realised that he'd practically described Dean in the same way yesterday, and the idea that Dean and Lisa were the most suitable, perfect couple he could think of was hammering itself into his brain, relentlessly pulsing and twisting in his mind to the point that his vision was blurry and pulse quickening.

"Are you sure?" Jenny asked, all four students now completely distracted from their work, but Castiel didn't alert them to it because he was as enthralled and desperate for information as they were.

"Yeah I always see them leaving together and most days he's holding her hand and opening the car door open for her."

Castiel's chest was heaving and burning and his heart felt like it had been hit with a baseball bat, trying to shoot across the room but remaining entrapped in his ribcage, fighting and stretching against the barriers. He gripped his desk tightly and pushed himself upwards, trying to remain in control as he stumbled towards the glass door, weakly pointing towards the corner and managing to say a simple, "back to work please, Mr Milligan." When out of the room, he almost ran to the small storage cupboard on the other end of the arts corridor.

Safely hidden in the cupboard, he slid down the door and hugged his knees tightly, shaking and hyperventilating and hating himself for getting so worked over such a stupid thing. It was only a crush. He had a stupid crush on a cafeteria worker and finding out he was already in a relationship shouldn't _affect him_ this much, Dean had never shown any inclination of interest towards Castiel and the latter was just fooling himself- reading signs wrong, getting his hopes up and not realising that he was hopelessly attracted to a very, very straight man. He grabbed his hair and pulled, trying desperately to stop this massive overreaction.

He breathed in, and breathed out.

In. Out.

He managed to regulate his breathing and slammed his head back against the door, staring up at the various art supplies dotted around the shelves. This all made perfect sense, really. The fact that Dean's eyes had darkened when Castiel had reverted to his stern teacher voice? That was just Dean reminiscing about the last time Lisa had cracked out the 'you've been a naughty boy' routine. The coffee was probably due to Dean recognising him as that 'weird art teacher' Lisa mentioned randomly when they were sitting in bed watching TV sometime, and he might have felt the need to supply a sympathetic beverage to try and cheer the lonely, stupid, deluded guy up.

Against the back wall was the small collection of different sized canvas', paper and mount board, all clean and waiting to be turned from something uninteresting to something, perhaps, worth so much more.

Castiel rose and let his fingers drag lightly across one of the largest canvas, a small smile playing on his lips as he realised it had been so long since he had felt this compelling urge to paint, to create something individual and beautiful. He grabbed the canvas and lifted it up, clumsily opening the door with it hanging under his arm and walking back to the classroom. The students were all acting like they didn't realise something peculiar had just occurred, but a few raised their eyebrows at the canvas.

"Painting again, sir?" Garth commented loudly and Jenny elbowed him in the ribs.

Castiel just nodded, placing the canvas on the easel adjacent to his desk and walking over to the counter stacked with paint. He assured himself that Dean wasn't his inspiration- he was his own muse and he always would be- but he knew he was just lying to himself again.

\----o----

The man stood tall and elegant, shirt tucked into his tailored trousers and emphasising his thin, swimmer's physique. His left hand was clenched by his side and head turned to the right to stare defiantly at his other outstretched palm, holding a single black feather and offering it to the hand of an unknown man, reaching out to take it. It was one of his own feathers from the beautifully crafted wings protruding from his back and moving gently in the wind, shining gold in various places but remaining a metallic, oily black.

Castiel stepped back and looked at the hand- the offering. He didn't like it, how easy this angel, this thing, was handing over something so personal to someone so irrelevant. He dabbed his largest paintbrush lightly in the small puddle of black paint and swiped it over the other man's hand, unsympathetically ridding any evidence of this other subject. His senior class had left at the beginning of break and Castiel hadn't felt the need to eat or rest since. The nervous freshman class had entered at the start of third period, most standing behind Castiel and contributing their own compliments on the painting before Castiel nodded pointedly at the rest of the classroom and they retreated to watch from a distance. Gradually the blank space, where the hand had been, evolved into fire, red and orange with little hints of blinding white and blue, and the angel's hand appeared to be placing his single feather into the flames. Burning it to mere ash.

"Whoa." A voice beside him muttered a few minutes after the class had departed for lunch. "That's some detailed doodling you've done there, Cassie."

Castiel turned his gaze to Gabriel, tilting his head and admiring the work. "It's... far for from complete." Castiel replied, wiping the back of his hand against his brow and suppressing a yawn.

"So someone found their muse?"

Castiel bowed his head, placing his palette and paintbrush down on his desk, trying to find the suitable words to express the situation. "Pie." He said. "We shared a pie. He heated it up and we both ate it together from the same case. He said I'm weird and awkward in a good way and appeared rather flustered when I accidentally said something in my stern teacher voice." Gabriel put a proud hand on Castiel's shoulder but Castiel shrugged it off. "But it turns out he's in a relationship with Lisa Braeden, the gym teacher."

Gabriel let out a low whistle. "Braeden." He nodded. "She's hot."

"I'm aware of that, yes."

"But, hey, you're hot too." Gabriel responded weakly. "Plus, I bet he doesn't hand her complimentary cups of coffee just to cheer her up."

"That's because she probably doesn't require coffee to last the day." Castiel mumbled, walking over to the sink to wash and dry his hands. "She most likely gets her energy from the smiling faces of children and the glory of her own reflection."

Gabriel shrugged, following Castiel like a lost puppy. "Whatever, listen to me, let's go grab some lunch and I'll _prove_ to you that he's interested."

"That sounds like an absolutely disastrous idea." Castiel shrieked, throwing his wet paper towel in the other's face. "He has an extremely perfect girlfriend, I don't want to go getting my hopes up and seeing them crushed everytime they share a quick kiss before lesson starts."

"But what if he doesn't want to share quick kisses with her, what if he wants to share them with you?"

Castiel stopped directly in front of Gabriel and peered into his eyes- not very difficult seeing as Gabriel was a fair few inches shorter than him- pulling out his infamous, hypnotizing gaze trick. "He doesn't want me, at most he feels compelled to cheer me up every now and then because of the sad excuse for a person I am. I feel no desire to see him right now because it will just make me feel a hell of a lot worse, so how about we drop this and move on."

Gabriel just waggled his eyebrows in the infuriating way he always did when he was deciding to go against every warning discussed previously in the conversation. "Tell me, when did you decide you liked this guy so much anyway? You've talked to him- what- three times?"

"We've talked more than that." Castiel murmured, pulling his blazer back on. "In addition to that, in case it's averted your attention, he's incomprehensibly attractive and yesterday I discovered that, not only is he unlawfully hot, he's also the nicest, politest and most interesting man on the planet."

"Wow, you've got it bad."

"Yes." Castiel replied, because there was no use denying it- not to Gabriel anyway. To Crowley, however, denial would be essential. "And Lisa Braeden has got _him_ , so let's pretend this conversation never happened."

Gabriel tilted his head from side-to-side, evaluating the many thousands of opportunities that had arisen due to Castiel's crush, a truck load of plans to make the cynical bastard happy for once. "Sure you don't want lunch?" He asked, widening his hazel eyes and clasping his hands together in a messed-up version of prayer.

"I've never been so sure of anything. I'll go grab a sandwich from across the road before returning to my painting, hopefully avoiding any contact with Dean Winchester."

"You're such an ass." Gabriel groaned, grabbing Castiel's lapels and bringing him closer so he could feel the next few sentences. "This guy goes gooey eyed, hot and bothered and pre-pubescent high pitched everytime you're in the vicinity. He brings you coffee when you look like you're feeling down and stares at you from across the cafeteria like he's stalking his prey. You guys shared a pie when he could've just told you to go across the road and 'grab a sandwich.' Who cares about Miss Braeden? So she's hot and charismatic and get's most the school population drooling over her- it's too boring, too generic. You're exciting and different and _weird_ , and that is why you have the upper hand here!"

"Even if that's the case- which it most certainly _isn't_ , for I am the least exciting person he has probably ever had the displeasure of talking too- I am not going to ruin a well functioning relationship for my own benefit. I may hate the majority of the Human race, but I do have some morals left."

Sighing, Gabriel flung his arms in the air and stormed off in the direction of the door. Just before exiting, he spun on the spot and pointing and unwavering finger at Castiel. "You, my friend, need to be more selfish. You give and you give without realising it, but sometimes you've gotta take. You deserve to get what you want every now and then, you know?"

With Gabriel gone, the room seemed extra empty. Sometimes the whole open-planned classroom design irritated Castiel to no end. He liked the minor claustrophobic feeling of four plain walls and a rough carpet with rubbed in gum marks and unidentifiable stains because it was oddly cosy and home-like, easy to relax into without feeling constantly watched and vulnerable. The paranoia never really left him throughout the rest of the day, even when the last lot of students had exited the building signalling the end of the day, and it doubled in size when he heard a polite cough from behind him.

"Wow." Dean commented, his audible intake of breath an indication that he was much closer than Castiel was prepared for. "That's- er- really good."

The head of Castiel's imaginary global collective institute of arts could have crowned this the best painting in all the land, hung it high for all the world to see and written a 50 page report on just why the themes explored and techniques used have managed to form such a renowned masterpiece, and it still wouldn't have formed such a large bubble of pride in Castiel's stomach and made him blush as much as Dean's poorly strung together sentences did.

"Thank you." Seemed an appropriate way to express these feelings.

"Like, really. You're good. Really good."

"Thank you."

"So, well, anyway-" Castiel heard a paper bag rustling and rotated to see Dean pulling out a plastic wrapped salad and a bottle of orange juice. "-you didn't turn up for lunch and I didn't see you at break and I, well, I only just realised you might have had a packed lunch or not wanted to eat today, maybe like a weird detox diet I don't know, not that you _have_ to diet, I mean, look at you! But, so, this was the only thing they had left in the canteen, but I've seen you eating salads before- not in a creepy way, you know, you were just in my line of sight- so I thought I'd just bring it up and.. check... if you wanted it." Dean sighed and held out the salad bashfully with one hand, the other running through his hair.

"From what I could extract from that rambling," Castiel smiled, feeling sickeningly light and explosive. "You saw there was a salad left and thought I might want it because you hadn't seen me eat today." Gabriel's voice rang through his mind: _this guy goes gooey eyed, hot and bothered and pre-pubescent high pitched everytime you're in the vicinity. He brings you coffee when you look like you're feeling down and stares at you from across the cafeteria like he's stalking his prey._ "You'd be right, I haven't eaten, and not because I'm partaking in a diet, just because I wanted to finish my piece, so I'm extremely grateful for this."

"From what I could extract from that rambling," Dean said, smiling, "that was a thank you?"

"Correct."

"Excellent." Taking confidence from the fact Castiel was now happily digging into the salad, Dean moved forward to inspect the painting closer. "So, why are his wings black?"

Castiel sat awkwardly on the edge of his desk and tilted his head at the question. "Excuse me?"

"He's an angel, right? But angels have always been depicted with white, fluffy wings. Why are his black?"

Castiel considered this as he swallowed a cherry tomato. "He fell."

"A fallen angel? Then why does he still have his wings in the first place?"

"To remind him of the punishment of falling."

"Falling is a punishment? But surely it was his choices that caused the falling."

"He did what he thought was right and for that he punished, the wings remind him that his decisions were wrong but he doesn't agree with that. That's why he's burning the feathers, he doesn't want to be reminded of his heritage when he believes it so corrupt."

Dean nodded, stepping closer to Castiel and facing him straight on. "How did he fall?"

Castiel stared back, placing the salad behind him and licking his lips, noticing that Dean followed the movement closely. "In every way imaginable." He said, and Dean's eyes flickered downwards, looking at Castiel from his shoes to his disarrayed hair.

"Oh."

Their close proximity was evidence enough of the fact that they were sharing the same oxygen, because Castiel could taste Dean's bittersweet breath teasing his chapped lips, plumping and puckering them in the thick anticipation only communicated through body language and irresistibly heated eye contact.

Castiel's palms were sweating and his grip on the edge of the desk was slowly depleting, meaning any second now he was expecting to slide backwards and have his back slam heavily against the cluttered wooden furnishing, and- with the way things seemed to be accelerating- Dean might just follow him; chest resting on heaving chest, leg between open, desperate legs and lips clashing together in a totally uncoordinated, inhibition driven, _perfect_ way.

But, just as Cas moved one hand to grasp at the material of Dean's shirt (partly for balance, mainly to see if the clinging fabric gave the man's body justice), Dean's eyes shot back to their normal state, his mouth parted in a small gasp and his stance became rigid and alert.

"Lisa." Castiel said gruffly, nodding as if to convey his understanding of the sudden change of atmosphere. Dean collected himself consciously as Castiel removed his grip and moved further away, sitting as calm as possible on the desk and trying to control his shaking. "Leave." He ordered, his eyes unfocussed and gazing at nowhere in particular. "Now."

Castiel didn't know how he could feel so rejected when no proposition was made in the first place, but he was all too flushed and looked far to embarrassed to try and disguise the forceful, gravitational pull as anything but attraction.

Dean fingers hovered hesitantly over Cas' shoulder but, when Castiel pointedly shrugged him off, the message was made clear and he strode slowly out of the room as if trying not to step on anything that could trigger another weird reaction. Castiel glanced towards the large, glass wall, managing to watch as Dean walked all the way to the end of the corridor and didn't look back once.


	3. Phones.

It’s not that Castiel minded being manhandled, so to speak, but being manhandled by someone ridiculously smaller than him into a very crowded cafeteria to the viewing pleasure of over a thousand students, well, that’s a different story altogether. There were various snickers bouncing across the room as Gabriel and Castiel battled to pull each other in different directions, Castiel firmly trying to run out of the doorway and Gabriel finding it far more interesting to tackle the art teacher into the small section of the room where the serving trays, lunch queue and stacked cold food were all delicately crammed into.

Monday lunch times usually weren’t the busiest seeing that it seemed an unofficial rule to make the food progressively unhealthier- and therefore more edible- as the week rolled on, so the student’s preferred to wait until there were at least fries on the menu. Castiel couldn’t help but agree with the students sitting outside on the lunch benches, but that was only because he couldn’t endure being seen by the man who he- quite possibly- engaged in one sided phone sex over the weekend.

Oh yeah, so, that happened.

It wasn’t intentional, as with most things Castiel comes to regret it was alcohol induced and Crowley encouraged, but at least it progressed their relationship to the stage where Dean was now very, very aware of Castiel’s interest. Castiel wasn’t optimistic enough to call this the bright side of things, but he was smart enough to know it was inevitable and going to happen sometime, a tiny part of him just wished it wasn’t on the same night they had shared a ‘moment.’ That's right, a 'moment.'

It started in the same way as many of their outings did. It started with drink.

“Drink!”

“More drink!”

“Lots of drink!”

Castiel had sat and calmly contemplated his choice of friends. Contemplating was a polite term to use when, in fact, he was evaluating the bar for the nearest exits and deciding the best excuse to get as far away from them as possible. Unfortunately, it was Friday night, and Friday night means drinking and bitching and- eventually- mindless singing to one hit wonders on the sad excuse for a karaoke machine.

The Roadhouse was a small, country style bar that was previously run by Ellen before she'd decided to move into teaching- she had been adamant that she could both control the Roadhouse and control a classroom _'because Bobby was quite able to carry on teaching and run his scrapyard'_ , but it soon became obvious that beaten up cars and beaten down drunkards have only very little in common- and therefore it was now in the apparently capable hands of Ash, an unlikely friend of Ellen who still favoured the mullet and appeared to dislike sleeves. Castiel wouldn't trust Ash as far as he could throw him to run such a popular establishment, especially with hair like that, but he's been wrong before and Ash has seemingly pulled in a lot of money, going by the fairy lights and other rather grotesque decorations that had been added recently.

An upside to all this was Ellen's status as everlasting overlord of the bar, meaning cheap drinks and long hours.

“Come on, princess,” Crowley said, sipping his red wine and still in his all black suit to give the overall impression of a dreadfully clichéd Bond villain, complete with patronizing nicknames. “Tell Papas Crowley and Gabriel all about it.”

Castiel winced at his use of language and even Gabriel choked on his- was that an  _appletini_? Wow, did he need to find himself new friends. “Once again, there's nothing to tell.” Castiel replied coldly, glancing sideways to avoid the onslaught of eye rolling.

His eyes locked on to Ellen at the bar, chatting comfortably with Ash and a rather large guy with large shoulders and almost shoulder-length hair. Castiel was left to ponder if everything about him was long - _seriously, Castiel, head out of gutter now_ \- until the object of his attention stood up and began following Ellen back to the table, laughing and gracing the room with such a delightful smile it could only be compared to Dean's- yet another irresistibly charming man to add to Castiel's crippling insecurities and make him feel all the more insignificant.

“Well something's happened.” Gabriel commented. “Did you lock-lips with that handsome son of a bitch?”

Castiel tried his hardest to appear completely taken aback by that accusation. “No! No, don't be ridiculous.”

“You're lying.” Ellen smirked, placing a tray of shots in the centre of the table as she sat beside him and, seriously, Ellen was supposed to be on his side during these instances.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you haven't been so animated during arguments since... well, I can't even remember.”  
She started dividing up the shots between the table, acting the mother-hen in all situations. “Something's definitely ruffled your feathers.”

“That's hardly evidence enough.” Castiel grumbled, snatching a shot up and downing it with the same skill that won him a lot of surprising popularity at college. Apparently a fine sum of money can be made with participating in drinking competitions- only if you win, of course.

Ellen joined the eye-roll brigade as commanding officer.

“In other news.” She said, sighing, but cheering up when she patted the large man on the shoulder. “This is Sam, Sam Winchester, brother of the infamous Dean.” Castiel unattractively choked on his second shot.

“That explains the good looks.” Gabriel brought out his hand to shake, leering only slightly as he introduced himself. “Gabriel.”

“And Cassie's blush.” Crowley added, politely shaking Sam's hand with an aura of hierarchy. “I'm Crowley.” Castiel noted that this was about the time he should repeat the gesture, but he was far too busy drowning himself in shots and heading towards a premature death.

“That's Castiel.” Gabriel smirked. “He's drinking his way into Hell because he's got the hots for your brother.”

Sam's eyes widened understandably, but he just nodded and took a shot of his own. “Yeah, he does that to people.” He said, chuckling. “And is he aware of your, er, feelings?”

“Undoubtedly so.” Castiel replied gruffly. “I may have invaded quite a lot of his personal space in an attempt to devour his face.”

“Ah, that didn't work out then?”

“It was... unsuccessful.” Castiel concluded. “I believe we were both all too aware of his relationship with Miss Lisa Braeden.”

“Lisa Braeden?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows at Ellen, who shrugged back. “I've never heard of her and, believe me, Dean enjoys going into great detail on the phone to me regarding his sex life.”

“Maybe because it's more serious. She has a child.”

“Yeah, well.” Gabriel chimed in, “you could have a child! You know, if you were a woman and not socially retarded.”

“Thank you, Gabriel. Much appreciated.”

Sam sat silently for a few moments, fiddling with his empty shot glass, before looking up at Castiel with a peculiar amount of sincerity. “You seem like a good guy, Dean'll notice that soon enough.”

**2 hours later.**

“Dude, no Dean,  _Dean_ , listen to me! Castiel is the best, seriously like... he is so _awesome_. I mean, yeah he has a dick, but you are a dick, you're a perfect match. And hey, hey, you're both dudes so you already have something in common! What do you mean shut u- no, no Dean I am not drunk. I am sober enough to see when my brother's being a stubborn douchebag.” Sam pulled his phone back from his ear and glared at it with his mouth wide open, “You're such a-”

“Sam.” Castiel slurred, inching closer and grabbing the phone. “Let me talk to him.”

“Castiel, I'm not sure if that-” Ellen was interrupted by Crowley pressing a finger to her lips and dragging her away to where Gabriel was playing pool.

“Dean.” Castiel began, and was very proud of himself for not starting the conversation in a more inappropriate manner. “Dean, I already said that didn't I? Dean. Dean. It's a funny name, if you say it a lot it doesn't sound real, just sort of like the sound you get on game shows when you get the answer right.  _Dean-Dean-Dean, we have a winner!_ ” Castiel allowed himself time to stop laughing and didn't notice Dean trying to get his attention on the other end of the line. “No, please listen, I apologize for making you uncomfortable with our ridiculous amounts of sexual tension, I understand that a straight man such as yourself must have difficulty coming to terms with how much I would very much like you naked and spread out on my bed...”

 _“Cas, please stop. I can't deal with this right now.”_ Dean pleaded, and he did sound sort of desperate which, incidentally, just made Castiel even more eager to continue,

“My name isn't Cas.” He said. “It's Castiel and I am an angel of the Lord.”

There was a moment of silence before- _“Dude, you are pissed.”_

“You're pissed.” Castiel retorted. “But you can call me Cas if you want, I suppose. As long as you make sure you absolutely scream it during sex.”

_“Cas, I mean Castiel, seriously, I-”_

“The great thing about phones is that we can't see each other, so we can just imagine ourselves in whatever position we want and wearing whatever we want, which in your case is, as I'm sure you can guess, nothing.”

Dean's breath hitched and Castiel tried to pat himself on the back but failed, so Gabriel (who had wandered over most eagerly after Sam had vacated his seat exclaiming he did  _not_  need to hear his brother having phone sex) did it for him.

“Dean, Dean.” Castiel hummed. “Don't go all shy now that I'm drunk, take advantage of this situation.”

_“Look, Cas, I.. I'm not alone and this...we're... this isn't anything.”_

“But we could make it somethi-”

_“No, we can't. I- I need to go now, shower and sleep, so... erm, good speaking to you, I suppose.”_

Castiel frowned and slouched down in the sofa. “Be sure to think of me in the shower.” He muttered halfheartedly, leaning into Gabriel and resting his head on the other's shoulder. Gabriel got the message and ran his fingers through Castiel's hair, playing with it lightly to comfort him the best him could.

 _“Like I could think of anything but.”_  Dean replied, almost irritably, before the phone beeped and signalled the end of the conversation. Castiel's eyes fluttered closed and he drifted into a very heavy, alcohol provoked sleep.

\----o----

Gabriel's apartment had smelt unnaturally sweet. Unfavourably sweet, Castiel thought, as he’d rolled over to stuff his face in the pillow. After a few desperate requests- “Shower me with coffee, let me swim through it, bathe in it, give me a coffee transfusion”- he’d managed to somehow get home and throw himself on his own sofa, watching as many movies as he could on whatever channels he could find to try and wash out what he could- annoyingly- still remember from the night before.

Castiel was halfway through ‘When Harry met Sally’ when he realized that miscommunication was the work of the devil- ironic seeing as he hadn’t spoken to his brother Lucifer for years- and perhaps, instead of drowning in his XXL jumper (for when suffering a cold or nursing a hangover) and his own self injected misery, he could pick up his phone and message the man who he’d made inappropriate propositions to hours earlier.

Approximately 35 minutes away, if keeping to the regulation driving speeds, Dean Winchester was curled up in his bed and wondering how he could hide his brother’s dead body well enough to not spur any suspicion. Not that he’d killed Sam yet but he was planning to, because his brother was still happily asleep on his sofa and not caring, or maybe not even aware, that he’d helped push Dean into an undeniable sexuality crisis. Dean was pretty sure that this sort of thing was supposed to happen during puberty when standing in the boy's locker room or something similar and realizing you've been eyeing up your best friend's butt for the past five minutes and enjoyed how the white towel contrasted against his tanned, lean muscles, not when you're nearing thirty and have some sort of opposites attract syndrome for the freaky art teacher that really has no concept of personal space if the afternoon beforehand was anything to go by.

It's not that Dean thought there anything wrong with homosexuality- with the amount of evil and hate he was witness to in the world, being against two people loving each other, any two people, seemed petty and ridiculous- it's just that, with the amount of women he'd been with and how much he'd loved every second of it, the thought of being with another man just seems too weird for him to even comprehend. The first niggling of, well, whatever this was, occurred on his first day at work when Jo was happily giving him an unnecessarily elongated tour of the school building to avoid work for as long as possible, and he'd walked into the Arts department to be immediately greeted by the great wall of glass decorating the whole left hand side of the corridor. The immature teenager within him was urging him to press his face against the panes and make the most ridiculous face possible, maybe even draw some genitalia on the condensation, but then he remembered that he was now employed and payed to be here so he decided against it. He did, however, peer in to witness a slim man trying to reach a very high shelf (that appeared to just hold a mass pile of unsorted paper) by standing on his desk and stretching up so far that his shirt was pulled above his waist line and his prominent hip bones were far too noticeable to be ignored even by the straightest of men. 

Then he promptly slipped on a pack of post-it notes, fell off the desk and thankfully managed to fling his arms out and grab hold to the edge of it before he cracked his skull open. In a moment of panic and as a desperate attempt to save the attravtive-hip-bones-man, Dean had crashed forward into the transparent glass wall and, in turn, landed on his ass next to a thoroughly confused Jo. Hearing the commotion, the anonymous art man turned to see two cafeteria staff staring directly at him, blushed, had a quick go at giving a nonchalant smile and wave (unsuccessful) before swiftly exiting the room through the side door into the clay and sculpture room, leaving Dean to consider how absolutely adorable he looked when dishevelled. 

Needless to say, an unnamed bond was formed between both men that day and, over a month later, it had come back to rigorously bite Dean in the backside. Perhaps it was his own fault for supplying endless mugs of coffee and smiles, joking and charming like he would when trying to seduce the quieter type of woman- the smart, nervous type who, despite the amount of girls he picked up who didn't share this criteria, he much preferred. Or, turn the tables, perhaps it was Castiel's fault for being so God damned alluring. 

In any case, receiving a text at half two in the afternoon from an unknown number admitting that they “probably shouldn't of let Sam stay in charge of alcohol and mobile telecommunication devices” and that he was sorry if Dean “felt uncomfortable by the events” made Dean want to throw his phone to the wall because he wasn't feeling uncomfortable at all, he didn't _really_ want to kill Sam and everything that had happened last night seemed to amount to the best shower Dean had ever had. 

The rest of the weekend was spent pacing around his flat, hands either covering his face or tugging at his own hair as he made excuse after excuse to Lisa. “Oh, Ben's baseball game? Sorry, I promised Sam I'd water his fuchsias. Dinner tonight? Oh, I can't, Bobby's beard needs trimming.” 

“Maybe it's _your_ 'beard' that needs 'trimming' if you know what I'm saying.” Sam shouted helpfully from the kitchen. Bitch.

By the time it reached Monday lunchtime Dean half wished that Castiel would win whatever petty fight him and Gabriel were having in the doorway to the cafeteria, whereas the other half of him wanted Gabriel to slap the art teacher silly. The pushing and pulling and pinching and poking continued for a good few minutes to the entertainment of pretty much every student in the school until Dean's eyes narrowed in on a puddle of strawberry milkshake looming just behind Castiel's nicely polished shoes because, obviously, He in the Heavens decided that Dean's life needed this extra bit of unwanted excitement. 

Sighing and throwing a cloth over his shoulder in case this whole thing didn't end in the exact way he just knew it would, Dean politely nudged past the slowly gathering crowd and made his way over to where Gabriel was (no word of a lie) pulling Castiel's hair, arriving perfectly in time to see Gabriel release his grip and push Castiel back enough distance for him to slip on the powder pink liquid of death.

Straight into Dean's outstretched arms. 

Oh what a fucking surprise. 

“You,” Dean practically snarled through gritted teeth, “need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

Castiel immediately tensed, his insides turning to stone and his mouth crumbling with how extremely dry it had become. He didn't know how long he sat almost cradled in Dean's biceps before his brain was helpfully returned to him and he leapt up, sturdied by Dean's hands that refused to leave his waist, begrudgingly meeting his saviour's eyes. “I-” he started, glancing at the students surrounding them (including Becky and Jenny from his senior art class who looked like they were about to melt into yet another hazardous puddle) “-am all too aware of my surroundings right at this moment.”

Dean seemed to get the message, stepping back quite an offensive distance in Castiel's opinion, hissing a quick _“we need to talk”_ before stalking behind the serving counter and waving his hand in way that told Castiel he was supposed to follow. Castiel was lead through the industrial sized kitchen and out the heavy, fire escape doors into a small alleyway that housed the bins and the occasional smoking staff. It was far too thin of a space for Castiel to be happy within, especially when it was Dean's chest that was feverishly close to his, but at least it was private.

“I'd like to point out,” Castiel said, seeming it right that he begin this conversation since it was his crush that had caused all this trouble to begin with, “that there's nothing to talk about, unless you feel that there is, which you do, therefore there's a lot to talk about that I'd rather ignore than talk about.”

Dean stared curiously at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and grabbing the lapels of Castiel's suit jacket, dragging it up so their chins were pressed against each other, their bottom lips flicking against each other as their breath intertwined and grew heavier, denser at the promise of contact. “You can't talk like normal person, can you?” He growled before it all collapsed, before that final straw snapped and their lips meant in a rush of broken morals and pent up frustration, before Castiel released an uninhibited, animalistic moan into Dean's mouth when the latter ran his fingers through his hair, grasped at every last strand and tugged his head down so he could push his tongue further, drag his teeth teasingly across the plump, glistening lips that were just begging for it as his hands finally rested on those godforsaken hip bones that were revealed when legs were wrapped around Dean's waist and shirts were pushed up, nails scraped against naked skin and both men now fully unaware of their surroundings.

Castiel was completely off the ground now, roughly held against the ragged brick of the alleyway so Dean could push forward, his body firmly crushed between Castiel's legs as they gave and take and fought and groaned into each other's mouths, kissing and licking and biting and _Oh God Castiel needed to stop now. Right now._

“Dean, I-”

His next words were forgotten as Dean grinded into him, capturing his lips between urgent teeth, desperate to get closer because one minuscule kiss had managed to rid of any worry or distress and replace it with pure eagerness and want.“Fuck, Cas,” he muttered, voice muffled by skin as he moved to nip along the strong contours of Castiel's jaw bone, lowering his mouth to Cas' exposed neck, moving the shirt collar with his teeth because his hands were far too busy keeping the other man in place, “you really don't know what you've been doing to me.”

“I can imagine you've been in a similar position as me,” Castiel managed to croak out, his voice harsh and dry and he noticed Dean's predatory eyes follow his tongue as he swiped it across his bottom lip, a final taste, a lasting recollection of what had happened before Castiel pushed Dean away and found his balance on the moving floor, letting his fingers linger on Dean's shoulders before he begrudgingly pulled them back. “But you have a relationship and you also, I mean, I believe there's a possibility my feelings may run further than a sexual attraction so I'm going to surprise both of us here,” he sighed and looked to the side, Dean's dilated pupils still drilling into his, “and be the first one to leave.” He paused and took a deep breath, walking away sounding such a stupid thing in his head, the little Gabriel voice in his mind screaming at him to stop being an idiot, stop doing the _right_ thing and start enjoying the wrong, enjoy the exhilaration and selfishness of just letting yourself go.

But he also heard his brother's voices, their strong moral codes and strict rules, perfect lives with perfect wives, looking down on him and shaking their heads at what a failure young Castiel had become, falling to his knees for a taken man.

“Thank you, Dean.” He whispered, straightening out his shirt and buttoning it up as well as he could, adjusting his pants and ignoring his ruffled hair because it wasn't like anyone would notice the difference between his make-out hair and his I-look-like-I've-been-making-out-with-someone-but-really-I've-just-been-reading-a-really-interesting-report hair, then leaving through the same door they exited. 

The optimist in Dean told him that at least he was going to have another memorable shower tonight.


	4. Champagne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when this story was a thing? Well, for a while it wasn't a thing, but I was recently alerted to some beautiful reviews by some wonderful people, and, as someone who frequently feels the pain of unfinished fics, I realised that I had a duty to get stuff done. A-levels are hard and have pushed me into the world's largest writer's block, but I've tried to scramble my way out with this. I hope it's okay, I'm rather rusty at the moment so it's a bit shorter than others, but I just hoped an update might make some people happy (:  
> Thank you for supporting even without an update in around 8 months! Much love to you all~

The door was a plain black with an eloquent yet simple knocker in the shape of a British bull dog hanging in the center. Castiel rolled his eyes for, what he assumed, wouldn’t be the last time that evening, and gave a fleeting glance down at his dishevelled attire. His tie lay crooked on a crumpled white shirt and his blazer had stains littered in random places that never wanted to wash out; compared to him, this plain door looked worth a million dollars.

Being as it was Balthazar’s door, it probably was.

“Agreeing to this was a ridiculous idea,” he mumbled, pushing his hands further into his pockets to end their fidgeting, “we should have stayed at the Roadhouse and debated the moral dilemmas presented with the creation of Jaffa Cakes.”

Crowley smirked as he smartly knocked on the door three times, “too bloody late, my friend. You promised me a free ride to free booze, plus an evening of your own traumatic embarrassment, and I have come to collect the goods.” The chain on the other side of the door rattled and Crowley rubbed his hands together, quickly sniffing his wrists to ensure that the allure of his overbearing cologne survived the car journey, “I don’t know what part of _your ex-boyfriend’s engagement dinner party_ sounded attractive to you in the first place.”

“The free booze, mainly,” Castiel snapped, the same moment the door opened to reveal one of the most domineeringly beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her dress was slim, black, and almost reached the floor; it clung to her figure like, he imagined, Balthazar did on frequent occasion, whilst her hair was organised into a magazine-worthy bun on the back of her head, a few strands framing her perfectly structured face. But, as soon as she sent a trademark condescending grimace in his direction, the attraction faltered.

“You must be Castiel,” she stated, holding her hand out to be kissed or caressed or something medieval like that. Castiel’s eyes almost vibrated with the intent of rolling, but he held back and raised a disbelieving eyebrow at ‘Miss Talbot’ instead. Thankfully, Crowley swooped in like the magnificently glorious bastard he was, bowing as he pressed a light kiss to her outstretched fingers.

“And I’m Crowley,” he intruded, “gayer than Mr Novak here, but straighter than your new fiancé. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Bela stepped back and casually wiped her hand on the side of her dress, her smile only growing with her charmed façade as she did so. “Splendid, please come in and take a class of champagne.”

“Champagne?” Crowley muttered to Castiel, just loud enough for their host to hear, “how _very_ 90s.”

The first room they entered was brightly lit with white walls and mahogany wood flooring; a scatter of sculptures and art lined the walls beside a TV larger than Castiel thought legal, and glass cases of jewellery and relics- definitely illegal. It was a horrifically pretentious try at minimalistic living.

Castiel punched and kicked Crowley as they followed Bela to the dining room, ignoring his villainous chuckles and jibes; why he’d chosen Crowley, of all his friends to join him, he’d never fathom. Perhaps, he figured, it was because Crowley was the least likely to judge him for all the awful decisions he was sure to make this evening.

“It’s only a small gathering,” Bela commented politely as she stopped to introduce them to the three other couples seated at the table; Balthazar was sat at the head, a space next to him for his soon-to-be-wife, with four more seats free the opposite end. “Only one more couple to arrive, Lisa’s yoga class ran over and she couldn’t find a babysitter or something like that, it’s all beautifully domestic. They should be here soon, though. I assume you know Lisa Braeden and her partner? Apparently he’s quite the charmer.”

Her voice rang through his ears like white noise as Castiel’s throat ran dry, and Crowley clapped him hard on the back. “Oh yes,” Crowley said, smiling and trying to push the frozen man into the nearest seat, “we’re well acquainted.”

Dean? Why on God’s mighty Earth was _Dean Winchester_ attending an uptown engagement party for two of snobbiest people to grace the land? The only plausible reason was that someone up there wanted to spite Castiel and punish him for giving into want just _once;_ for kissing Dean one time because they were in close proximity and no one was around and- okay, he had no excuses. What he did was wrong, and now he was being faced with the object of his desire and his girlfriend, whilst being, most probably, mocked by his pompous ex and his slimy fiancé. He felt like pawn in a wicked game, with all pieces on the board shrouding him and laughing freely at his existence.

He felt self-conscious and sick, he was sweating and his collar was sticking to his neck even though he’d lost the top button long ago in a struggle to get out of the house on time. Articulately put, he felt like shit.

“Castiel, darling,” Balthazar called, raising his glass, “so happy you could make it, and I see you let the hound tag along.”

Castiel looked up to nod politely at Balthazar and ignored the fact that Balthazar must swap his V-neck shirts for even lower collared designs each birthday. “Your home is as lavish as ever,” he said.

“I have a _lady_ to please now, Cassie. She’s far more high maintenance than you used to be, not that I’d ask for anything less.”

Bela laughed as she sat beside him, pressing a lipstick covered kiss to his cheek and then wiping off the marks swiftly with her napkin. “I’m lucky to have found a man who can tend sufficiently to my needs,” she cooed, and Crowley hid his gag behind an abrupt cough.

The doorbell rang, and Castiel just about died on the spot.

\----o---- ****  
  
“-and really, this is the most ridiculous engagement that I, personally, have ever encountered. They’ve been going out for little over three months, she’s marrying him for the money and he’s doing the same! They’re undoubtedly the most well-matched, dysfunctional couple in existence, and this night’s going to be utter hell, especially since she’s started that new diet, not to mention-“

“Why are we going then?”

“Sorry?”

“Why are we going to a meal slash engagement party of a woman who you clearly do not want to spend time with? And why am I wearing a _tie?_ I feel like I’m going to a goddamned funeral.”

Lisa slumped slightly in the passenger seat and lent her cheek against the window, the jewels on her necklace, of which Dean had bought her for her birthday last month, reflecting the street lamps as they cruised down the road to the richer side of the city.

“Because she’s my _friend,_ Dean. We go to yoga every Friday together, not that you’d notice seeing as you’re never around anymore.”

“Look, can we not get into this now? We’re literally like, two minutes away,” he sighed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he tried to keep his gaze firmly ahead, “who’s going to this thing anyway?”

“Just a few people, she said ten at most, mainly other couples except…” she smirked, “except that Crowley creature and Mr Novak, who, believe it or not, used to date Bela’s fiancé for at least half a year. I can’t say I’m surprised about _his_ promiscuity, but Mr Novak? I thought he was king of the hermits.”

Dean s _wore_ to a shrieking Lisa that he’d seen a squirrel on the road after they had both recovered from his sharp swerve to the right.

\----o----

“So I said to Cassie, here, that the reason none of his paintings were  selling is because of the pure lack of talent noticeable. I mean, these canvas _things_ were pure, concentrated piss, and he thought they’d be popular, I mean-“Balthazar snorted into his fourth glass of champagne, “-they were _trash.”_

A polite titter circulated the table, and Castiel forced his heart not to flutter at the fact that Dean didn’t laugh at all; instead his face moulded into a firm scowl directed unashamedly at the other end of the table.

He opened his mouth to retort but Castiel promptly kicked him under the table, eliciting the first one-on-one contact both men had shared all evening, except for the feigned polite introductions and casual, bashful eye-contact every two minutes. Being seated opposite each other was like having one of Ellen’s pies, their first shared pie, in the middle of the table, and yet being told not to take a bite. The tension was reaching critical levels and Crowley wasn’t making anything easier, leering at Lisa and Dean like they were a confusing zoo attraction.

“I suppose it’s lucky I don’t depend solely on my art sales, then,” Castiel replied diplomatically, glaring at his glass of water and the lack of alcohol it held within. Being designated driver was bullshit, especially when Crowley was beside him, gradually losing all inhibitions.

“You could,” Dean argued before Castiel could stop him, and the table turned a curious eye to him, “they’re good enough.”

Lisa smiled politely as she took a small bite of her chicken.

\----o----

“Still single, Cassie?”

“Obviously.”

“Perhaps brushing your hair would help,” Bela cackled, as her fingers played with the neatly trimmed curls on the back of Balthazar’s neck.

“Or a decent suit,” Crowley joined in, and the others stared blankly at the three profoundly drunk Brits giggling over their vanilla panna cottas.

“You could get a date,” Dean muttered over the table, his eyes lidded as Lisa sat, trying to hide her boredom.  She struck up conversation with Uriel and his wife just in time to miss the faint whisper of “you’re good enough.”

\----o----

A penthouse apartment, Castiel concluded, had its perks. The view of the city was stunning, as was the ability to stare over some of the world’s tallest buildings and see past them to the suburbs, where few lights were switched on in comparison to the blinding brightness of the surrounding streets.

He was standing on one of two balconies, leaning over the rail and pushing his feet to the edge of the platform, just to see how far he could get from the polite small talk in the living area. He wasn’t surprised when he felt a warm presence next to him; confrontation was inevitable, especially when it was a choice between awkward apologies or more of Balthazar’s tall tales.

“I can’t believe you dated such an asshole,” was his opening line.

“Whilst in contrast, you have a delightful partner,” Castiel replied, before blushing. “That was sincere, by the way. I’ve found that recently even when I try to be positive I appear even more cynical.”

After an appreciative breath of slightly forced laughter, Dean turned to face Castiel, a wry smile crinkling his eyes up in an utterly irresistible way. “Some people just can’t see the bright side of life, can they?”

“Some people don’t have one.”

A heavy silence drop between them, but it was a mutually accepted awkwardness that somehow cushioned the uncomfortable. Dreadful music seeped through from the inside, and yet Castiel managed to feel completely secluded from the outside world, even with car horns and screeching tyres attacking their blissful surroundings.

“I want to leave her.”

Castiel didn’t reply, because Dean was being stupid. Stupid people don’t deserve responses.

“She’s great in practically every way,” he added, believing he was somehow making the situation better, “but she wants normal, and I can’t give her normal. I don’t _want_ normal.”

“You’re _bored,_ Dean. You’re bored and you think a quick stint with a man at work will inject some excitement into your life, but pretty soon I’ll become normal and boring and you’ll get fed up of me like Balthazar did, like Rachel did, like everyone eventually does. I’m not built for commitment, Dean. I’m loyal and unconditionally loving, but my weakness is that I expect that of everyone else, too.” Castiel cautiously moved his hand to rest atop of Dean’s, “I’m sorry for corrupting you, but you should stay with Lisa; she’s perfect, as you admitted yourself.”

Dean snatched his hand back and yanked Castiel out of the viewpoint of the glass doors leading to the balcony, pushing him towards the fire escape. “If someone has no weaknesses how can I appreciate their faults?” He growled, staring exasperatedly at the stars as if they offered the answers, “dammit, Cas. Every time I’m anywhere near you I discover something that makes me lo- that interests me, no, that’s a shit word, that makes me… _want_ you, even more. Like how you try and pat your hair down when someone looks at you too long, and you only blink, like, ten times a minute when you’re concentrating really hard, and when you laugh you look down like you’re not allowed to. Holy shit, man, how can you be that adorable and sexy at the same time? And not even know it? Jesus fucking Chr-“

He was cut off by a spectacularly uncoordinated kiss; there was no direction or clear emotion, just a hint of lust and desperation disguised between a powerful urge to shut Dean Winchester the hell up. Dean’s response was immediate, and they were locked in the tiny corner away from public viewing for less than a minute, until the music inside stopped suddenly and they both snapped out of the world they allowed themselves to get lost in once again.

“It’s your life,” Castiel said, voice rough and hoarse and so close to cracking, “it’s her or me, but- but if you choose me, I will forever live in the knowledge that one day you’ll find someone else who has an array of irritating quirks for you to pick out at inappropriate moments, and I don’t know if I could feel secure in a relationship where-“

“Stop,” Castiel stopped. Dean moved forward and placed his hands either side of his face, resting his forehead so gently against Castiel’s that it was only the vehement body heat that suggested the touch, “you. Only you. You’re not tempting me away from her, Cas. You’re not being some kind of siren douchebag, and I don’t resent you, and I don’t want you to distrust me. Only you. I’ve only ever, and will ever, feel this way for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean, you hardly know me,” he leant forward for a chaste kiss, because he was strong, but not that strong, “be a good and honest man, be a gentleman, and take me on at least three dates as a single man before committing to a lifeless man.”

“Life without love, is no life at all,” Dean quoted, a sparkle in his eye that almost reflected his backdrop. Castiel blushed and stuttered and, before he could try and form a decent response, was interrupted by a drunken Crowley running into the glass doors, swearing, and then doing it again.

“Home!” He shouted, “take me _home,_ Castiel. These people are wankers!”

Dean and Castiel chuckled in unison, held onto each other for a mere minute more, and then shared a silent goodbye. Castiel was aware that this shouldn’t make him better, this had solved nothing more rather than confirm that Castiel was 100%, undeniably in love with Dean Winchester.

But, then again, maybe that was everything. 


End file.
